


Chance, Circumstance, and a Gesture of Goodwill

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Holiday Collection [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: But not in a happy way, FACE Family, I'm sorry it's so sad, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It has a sorta Happy Ending, M/M, Reference to Rape, References to Depression, RusAmeHoliday, RusAmeHolidayPrompt, Some England bashing, Tissue Warning, Tumblr Prompt, Waaaaah I'm sorry!, prompt 6, scarf sharing, sorry - Freeform, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 16:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8760028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: RusAme Holiday Prompt #6: Scarf SharingDepressed and far from ready to face his family's condemnation, can one man's kindness and a gesture of goodwill change Alfred Jones's life for the better?[crappy summary, and I'm soooo soooo sorry, it's so sad in the beginning, I don't know what's up with me today, but it gets better, I think.  please read the tags, they're important]





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Okay, this is depressing shit, I’m so sorry, I have no idea what got into me]  
> [Al’s got Situational Depression in this case, and it’s been hitting him pretty hard, but he’s worked hard to get out of it, and he’s treading a fine line right now. Going home is probably a bad idea, but he can’t really get around it]  
> [Well, actually, he did...]
> 
> A bit disjointed, I think, but I did the best I could!

 

            The ticked curled in his hand was pretty worn through for all that it was probably only a few hours old. From the moment the matronly old woman at the register had given him his ticket – and a worried look he remembered seeing once in his _papa_ ’s face – he’d rolled it in his hand, folded into his pocket, shoved it into his bag, his jacket, his _shoe_ (don’t ask, he still didn’t want to remember why _that_ happened), and then pulled it out, unfolded it, worried it some more around his fingers, tracing the edges until they wore and curled inwards, and the paper became rough and oddly smooth in his hands. He could hear the rustle of other people clinging to their tickets – their pass home for the holidays, or wherever else they were going – only they cared for theirs more than he appeared to care for his. If only they knew…

            If only anyone knew…

            He shivered as a cold wind blew through the station, easily sinking into the thin fabric of his old, worn Captain America hoodie and his holey long-sleeved shirt that he’d stuffed on inside. They hung loosely on his frame, due to the weight loss he’d gone through, and he didn’t own anything warmer. And with his father furious enough with him to cut him off until he left home in January…he shivered, and curled into the minimal warmth his jacket offered, pulling the hood up so that his exposed neck could afford some level of coverage from the harsh winter gale.

            He supposed he was lucky enough that his father had sent him a ticket voucher for the train home in the mail. The man had been furious enough to have him stay in New York City over Christmas break and suffer the harshness of a ruthless New York winter. His dorm’s heating system was turned off given that the majority of the students were away for the winter, and given that both he and his roommate were from warmer climates, they’d kept the heat jacked up as high as it could get and used thin bedding to get around the issues of overheating. Without the heating, his room would be stone cold, and without any appropriate clothes or bedding, he’d catch hypothermia and die before his father’s fury relented.

            _Dad would say it’s my fault,_ he thought, depressed, _and Matthew would stand by him, even if he disagreed_. That sent his mood plummeting once more, tightening his grip on the ticket so much that it threatened to rip.

            But it hadn’t been his fault, what had happened at that party. It hadn’t been his fault that his drink had been spiked. It hadn’t been his fault that his so-called best friend had been bribed to introduce him to that jackass. It hadn’t been his fault that the police busted in and raided the frat house on suspicious activities. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t remember what happened after he’d had his first drink, only that he woke up to a sad, sympathetic face in a hospital room the next morning, dressed in a police uniform.

            It hadn’t been his fault that he’d been…he flinched, his mind shying away from the thought even months after the actual event.

            It _had_ been his fault that his father hadn’t been told the whole story, which might’ve even changed the way his father had viewed the entire event. But he hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit it to the man who’d always looked at him with disappointment, with expectation, with disapproval, with that _where did I go wrong with you_ look that cut him even worse than anything that had ever happened to him. When he hadn’t even been able to bring himself to tell the police – who knew what had happened, had _walked in on the crime in progress_ , had seen him unconscious and unwilling, had _reacted_ , had been there afterwards and kept in touch to make sure he was progressing – how on earth was he to admit something like that to his father?

            How was he supposed to tell the furious man that the verdant-eyed man’s reaction and his subsequent isolation within his former friend group had sent him spiraling into depression? A depression he’d only barely managed to crawl out of thanks to his roommate (who was a saint, and he would hold to it no matter what Feliciano and Lovino said to the contrary), and the knowledge that if he arrived at his father’s house in that state, he’d never leave it with his sanity and his sense of self intact.

            His father’s unintentional cruelty could be far worse than anything he’d ever intentionally said. His entire damned life was proof.

            His fingers twisted the ticket in his hand, and he bit his lip as he drew his knees onto the bench he was sitting on and wound his arms around himself. The last few months were weighing heavily on his mind now that he was about to head home and confront one contributor to his current state.

            His father had cut him off completely when he’d heard what had happened at the party (or rather, what Alfred had okayed him to know, rather than the entire picture; he’d figured it would be better that his dad be mad than even venture a guess at how he’d react otherwise and he’d never, in his wildest dreams, imagined the severity of his father’s response). He’d stopped rent payments, stopped the allowance he’d been living on, forbid all contact between him and the rest of the family until he’d “cleaned up his act” and been cleared by the family when he came home for Christmas. He’d even been banned from Thanksgiving Dinner. And his father hadn’t even had the decency to call him and tell him; he’d found out in an email that had been sent to his RA, just before the actual letter made its way to his then-residence hall.

            He’d never been more grateful for the scholarship the University had offered him – that he’d accepted it on the sly and told his parents he’d taken out student loan payments to pay for his tuition – even if it meant he’d had to move mid-semester to a new housing assignment, as the old one had been paid for by his father. He’d met his new roommate, who’d grounded him, who’d recognized what had happened and helped him recover and grow from it. His roommate was gem and he would never be convinced otherwise.

            He shivered as a train made its way onto the platform, the wind tunnel affect chilling him down to his bones.

            Probably the worst part of it all was that his father had refused his plea to send some of his warmer clothes from home. He’d left them there, thinking he’d be back in time for Thanksgiving so he could take some of his stuff back with him. But, being banned from his home, he only had his summer and light autumn clothes that, while comfortably appropriate for the Florida weather he’d grown up with, were wildly inappropriate for winter in New York.

            “You look cold,” a deep voice observed from besides him, and he jumped when he realized that there was someone who’d sat down next to him who knows how long ago, and he hadn’t noticed. He blinked tiredly at the violet-eyed man, noticing the pale, ashy colored hair, the startling pale pink scarf and how the man would tower over him if they ever stood up, before he recognized one of the patches on the man’s travel bag.

            “You’re in the Student’s Space Society!” he blurted without compunction, then flushed because he realized how ridiculous that sounded in response to the other man’s statement.

            The other man startled, but chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest in a way that made him feel lightheaded in a good way he hadn’t felt in _such_ a long time. “ _Da_ ,” he said, “I suppose so. Does that mean you go to the University?”

            He nodded with a slightly nervous smile, “Yes,” he responded, “I’m a freshman. What about you?” He was curious, after all. The other man hardly looked like he was a student.

            “I’m a senior,” he said with an odd smile, “I am a few years older than most of my class,” he continued, smile said he had noticed Alfred’s oddly suspicious and confused look that Alfred himself hadn’t even realized he’d been giving the other man, “I took a few years off before I went to university, to explore and consider what I wanted to do.”

            “That sounds nice,” he said wistfully; he’d wanted to take a year off to go explore the world before he got bogged down with college, but his father had been furious at him for even considering it. And now, with his father’s mood, it was unlikely a gap year would ever happen.

            The other opened his mouth to ask, concerned about the expression that had flitted across the younger’s face – mixed mourning, wistfulness, and deeply hidden worry – when another rush of the cold winter’s gale filled the train station platform, signaling the incoming train, and sending Alfred into another bought of shivers. Only, the shivers stopped surprisingly quickly, as he felt a weight settle against his poor, exposed neck.

            He blinked up at the senior, who’d shuffled a little closer to him, and was in the process of unwrapping part of his scarf in order to re-wrap it around Alfred’s neck. The elder man conveniently ignored the way Alfred gawped at him, utterly stunned at the action, even as he snuggled into the warmth it provided him, the precious shield allowing warmth to sink into skin that had long been denied such luxury.

            “You look like you’re freezing, _solnyshko_ ,” the other said, concerned. “That is not appropriate clothing for this kind of weather.” He huffed weakly, trying to force a grin to his face, but not quite making it.

            “It’s nothing,” he meant to say, instead of the slurred, “didn’t have anything warmer,” that slipped through his lips.

            “Why not?” the other asked, curious, because even though they were threadbare and not sufficient enough for New York weather, he recognized the kind of money they were worth. He’d seen the well worn ticket’s destination, the designer brand on the well cared for bag, and the sleek, newest gen cell phone that inhabited the young teenager’s kangaroo pouch. It certainly seemed like the younger could afford the luxuries, so why not some essentials?

            “Dad cut me off,” he said, surprising himself with his honesty towards this perfect stranger, “I got into trouble in the early semester,” he continued, “and dad heard when I got admitted to the hospital and cut me off. No room, no food, no tuition, and no contact until I get home tomorrow.” He shivered, even with the additional warmth the scarf was providing him with. His father’s mandates had been firm and uncompromising. The man had left him his cell phone, but had blocked his number from all the family lines, leaving him with no way to even plead the man to reconsider.

            _Early in the semester_ , the older student thought with a frown, recalling with unerring certainty the commotion that had been brought about by a party early in the semester that had resulted in many a student arrested and one particular freshman – whose name no one knew – in the hospital for… _oh_.

            “You don’t deserve that,” he said softly, carefully draping an arm around the younger teen’s shoulders, making sure the warmth of his coat could cover him, even if just a little. With how cold it was outside, and how long the younger had probably been waiting, it was a miracle he hadn’t caught hypothermia yet.

            “You don’t know what I did, yet,” the teen responded, sinking into the warmth against his better judgment.

            The elder student certainly was aware, though he wouldn’t bring it up right now, and certainly not since neither of them had ever met each other before this moment. Despite not being on the best terms with his ex boyfriend, Gilbert had not been hesitant in calling him up, drunk, one night where he’d spilled the entire sordid story of what had happened at the raided party. Including, much to Ivan’s horrified dismay, the part where part of his squad had walked in on what had clearly been a rape in progress. A rape whose victim had been terrifyingly familiar to poor Gilbert, who realized, soon after they’d separated the two, that the poor victim was actually his best friend’s youngest son.

            “Even if I did know,” the man countered, “there’s nothing that justifies someone abandoning their child to potential death via hypothermia. That’s more than negligence, that’s outright abuse.” The shrug he got in response to that was heart wrenching.

            “And you’re going home to these people?” he demanded, somewhat furious on behalf of the teenager next to him.

            A shrug answered him, “What other choice do I got?”

            Suddenly, the elder student thought of the warmth of his family home in California. His flight didn’t leave until tomorrow, and he was supposed to travel with his cousin, Toris, but the other had to cancel last minute, but hadn’t cancelled his ticket yet. And out of nowhere, he blurted, “You can come with me!”

            Alfred eyed him for a second, not so discretely debating whether or not to scoot away from the senior, before another burst of cold air made the decision for him and sent him back to practically cuddling into the other man’s side.

            “I apologize,” he said, and Ivan could _feel_ his face warming, and _oh_ , that was so _embarrassing_ , “I did not mean to come across so blunt.”

            “How’d you mean it then?” the teen asked bluntly.

            “Erm…I…” he stuttered, before, “I know Officer Beilschmidt,” slipped past his lips, and he had to talk fast while taking in the suddenly horrified expression of comprehension dawning on the teenager’s face. “Wait, I didn’t mean to say that!”

            Alfred opened his mouth, before he shivered, and closed it again. What the hell did you say to _that_?

            “I just,” Ivan floundered, and _oh,_ why didn’t he take those public speaking courses again, “I – Gilbert rants a lot,” he continued awkwardly, “especially when he’d drunk and despondent, and he’s outright irritating, but he’s really affected by things that happen at work, and…” he sighed, trying to collect his thoughts. “He was really worried about you, especially going home alone. I’m sorry to say I should’ve recognized you, Mr. Jones,” he felt his lips twitch, “Gilbert’s been waxing poetically about your adorable and awesomeness for nearly three months now.”

            There was a mildly horrified silence, before Alfred broke it.

            “You would really let me come with you?” Alfred asked, suspicious – understandably so – but oddly reassured as well, changing track efficiently and effectively. The other student nodded nervously.

            “Even if it’s just for a few days,” he said, “you should have the chance to be happy, and not worry about what others think of who you are and what has happened to you.” There was a pause for a second, like the other was about to broach something that he knew Alfred would not like, before he said, “Your family does not know…about the rape…do they?” And Alfred inhaled sharply, before shaking his head vigorously and looking away. Having someone else _name_ what had happened to him – when he couldn’t even do it in his mind – was something else. He usually couldn’t deal with even a hint of what had happened, let alone such a direct question about it.

            “I rest my case,” Ivan said, and he blinked out of his stupor to stare at him, stunned, “you should not put yourself through that. Given everything you’ve told me about your family, I would not expect them to be gentle with you. And I doubt their attitude is what you need right now.”

            After a moment of speechless silence on Alfred’s part, he gathered his voice to say, hoarsely, “They’re my family,” before stuttering off weakly.

            “They certainly have not acted like one,” Ivan insisted firmly, brow furrowed almost angrily, and reluctantly, Alfred had to concede to the elder. It was all he had ever known from his family, but even his roommate – the peaceful, never angry saint – had grown furious when he had heard what was “usual” for his family.

            “What are you going to do then?” the elder student asked with a furrow in his brow, violet eyes conflicted, and Alfred felt his grip on the ticket loosening as he contemplated his answer. Finally, he looked up, eyes somewhat desperate.

            “Would you,” he began, somewhat hoarsely, before clearing his throat and starting again, eyes determined this time, and feeling ridiculously pleased when those violet eyes practically glowed with satisfaction, “would you mind any company?”

            “Of course not,” the senior said with a smile, offering an arm to the pale, thin, trembling student, and said student hooked his skinny arm around the other’s coat, grip steady even though his body rocked with the weight of his decision, still connected by the pale pink scarf that wound around their necks. The horn of the approaching train sounded loudly in his ears, just as a gong throbbing through his brain, at the cusp of realization and transformation.

            Well, he thought, wherever he was going, it couldn’t be any worse than where he’d come from. He supposed he only had one chance to make things better. He couldn’t do that by reliving his past. And if Ivan turned out to be some kind of kidnapper or creepy stalker (though he doubted it), he could at least call Gilbert.

            The ticket that he’d been playing with for the past few hours slipped from his fingers, unnoticed in the wake of his life changing decision, and flew into the wind, lost to chance and circumstance.

            Just like its owner.

* * *

 

**EPILOGUE/BONUS**

            A few days later, when Arthur Kirkland realized that his youngest son hadn’t shown up from New York, despite being informed that the ticket he’d purchased had been used in the trip down, he waited the standard twenty four hours before he phoned the New York City Police Department. By some interesting chance or circumstance, he ended up speaking to Officer Gilbert Beilschmidt, who had been the lead officer on the rape case of Alfred F. Jones (who’d changed his name legally when it became apparent that his father had all but disowned him), who knew the young blond personally, and, oddly enough, happened to be an old friend of Dr. Kirkland’s partner, Francis Bonnefoy. Officer Beilschmidt was particularly fond of the fiery blond, sympathetic to his situation, and had developed a strong bond with the young physics major, so he happened to have his cell number on hand. Officer Beilschmidt had also been aware that Dr. Arthur Kirkland had no idea what kind of trauma and depression his youngest had been put through in his first semester of college, and was careful to avoid any mentions of it, despite his anger towards the verdant-eyed father.

            One phone call later, and Officer Gilbert Beilschmidt had been made aware by a very wary young blond that he’d ditched the Christmas gathering because he knew his own mental stability, and knew that his home environment wasn’t “conducive to any form of recovery,” let alone the one he had to put himself through. He’d also been informed, by the blond who sounded increasingly like the happy boy he remembered meeting when Francis had introduced him to his family over a decade ago, that someone had reminded him that his happiness was a priority in his life. And that if his family thought that he would sacrifice that happiness to become a shell of who he used to be, there was no need for them to continue on in this farce that had gone on for the majority of his life.

            Or, as Alfred had _actually_ put it, “I don’t owe anyone jack shit. If Dad wants to bitch about me being a bad son, destroying the family legacy, and failing to meet his expectations, than maybe he should actually pretend to give a damn about what happens in my life,” which hadn’t made Kirkland very happy (quite the contrary), even if it had sent the officer himself into hysterics.

            When Alfred returned to school in the new year, he threw himself whole heartedly into his studies, knowing it was all that stood between him and the poverty line. He found a job that gave him enough money monthly to save up for an apartment he could rent in the summer, when his home no longer became available to him, and left just enough on the side that he could keep away in case of emergencies. Ivan, the senior who’d changed his life with one conversation and a gesture of goodwill, had become a regular part of his life. First, as his support alongside his roommate when he started exploring therapy options, then, as a network connection that helped the rising young physics star secure a good paying entry-level job that he grew to love, and – years later – as a companion who helped him move beyond the insecurities that life and his family had drilled into him.

            In regards to his family, where before they had been the ones to cut him out of their lives for a situation they hadn’t even known the full details about, now _he_ was the one who rejected their overtures. His father – who had finally been informed about the full details of what had happened that night at the party – had tried many different avenues of reopening communication between them, but Alfred had been so fed up and so wounded that he refused the contact. His father hadn’t even apologized, and though he knew the likelihood of it ever happening was next to nil, it still hurt. He wondered sometimes, if he’d gone home and suffered through his family’s usual rancor, whether or not he would’ve even made it back to university.

            Matthew had tried – somewhat half-heartedly – to make contact over Facebook. But when he’d tried to speak to his elder brother and the first thing he heard was the usual guilt-tripping rhetoric of _come home, do you even know what you’re doing to this family Alfred_ , he’d hung up before blocking the other on every social media outlet he had.

            His _papa_ called him every day, each day sounding more and more distraught over the voicemail that he’d eventually given up and answered the man. He knew his _papa_ had loved him dearly, had never held him to any of the ridiculous expectations his father seemed to hold over his head while holding his happiness hostage. But even while he knew his _papa_ ’s apology was sincere, he couldn’t forget the number of times the man had _seen_ what his father’s criticism was doing to him and _looked the other way_.

            When Alfred finally agreed to meet with his long-estranged family, it had been five years since the incident, and he was fully established in his career field. As a rising prodigious astrophysicist being courted by NASA, amongst other powerful agencies, with a Masters degree in Aerospace Engineering, entering his PhD program, he certainly defied every expectation that had suffocated him growing up. With a partner who shared his prodigious intellect – in Nuclear Engineering and Division, rather than Astrophysics, though they both shared an intense love for space – and who could provide the emotional support Alfred needed without the baggage his family heaped upon him, the meeting was more for closure than for anything more substantial.

            And while sometimes, in the back of his mind – during his darker times when he thought of what might’ve happened if he had gone back home that Christmas holiday – he missed his _papa_ , his gentle love and affection, he missed his brother and the impossible connection they’d once shared as twins, and sometimes he even missed his father, and the small, _rare_ , warm smile he would get when he’d made the man proud. He wouldn’t have changed what had actually happened, even if he could. He had worked for everything he now had in his life; he had proved that his tragedy and his depression hadn’t defined him, that he wasn’t everything his father had screamed at him, or his bullies had sneered at him, or even what his rapist had snarled at him over the courtroom floor when he’d finally gotten the courage to take the bastard to trial.

            And all it had required was a conversation, and a gesture of goodwill.


End file.
